Cats Rule, Dogs Drool - Part II

I left off with the fact that Terri and I did not learn our lesson on dog ownership. We thought we did. The lesson we thought we learned was that we shouldn't own a large dog. So our next dog was a wiry haired terrier mix named Maggie. That dog was a bundle of energy that was hard to keep up with. And like most dogs, it stank. We had a fenced in yard, but the 3-4 foot high chain link fences were not an obstacle to Maggie. It would climb the fence like a ladder. Nothing we could do short of chaining the dog up would keep it in our yard.

So we chained it up. The first attempt was poorly designed. The chain was long enough to allow Maggie to get to the fence, climb the fence, but too short for her to land on the other side. The result was that early one morning the dog hung itself on the neighbor's side of the fence. The yelping woke up our kindly, elderly neighbor and he went out to free the hung dog. We learned from our experience and shortened the chain, but Maggie did not learn a thing. Anytime it could slip it's collar, over the fence it went and out into the neighborhood. Maggie's demise came one day when it met a car on a fairly busy street near our house. I was called by the city animal control officer who had found me via the rabies tags on the dog's collar.

Animal Control: "Mr. Bryant, do own a small, stinky reddish terrier with wiry hair?"

Me: "Yes. "
Animal Control: "I am afraid I have bad news for you. We found the dog today out on 67th Street. It had been hit by a car. I am sorry, but your dog is dead."

Me (to myself): "Yes!"

Me (to the animal control officer): "Oh, no."

Animal Control: "Would you like us to return the body?"

Me: "No, that will not be necessary."

Animal Control: "Would you like the collar back?"

Me: "No, we won't be needing it again. But thanks (a lot!)"

Sometime during the fairly short lifespan of our terrier, we acquired a cat named Missy. Missy was a good natured house cat for the first part of it's life, but became incontinent. That exiled it to the garage, where it slept and ate, and had free reign of the neighborhood via a pet door. Missy lived several years as an outside cat.

The beginning of the end came one afternoon while I was preparing our house for a coat of paint. I was replacing siding on the second story of our house over the garage. I dropped a hammer from approximately 20 feet over the driveway. About that time, Missy strolled out of the garage. She never knew what hit her. The hammer hit her squarely on the back of her head. She flopped around for a few moments. Terri and I were sure that she was dying, but she did not. After a few minutes, she got up like a punch drunk boxer and hid behind a bush. She never was right after that. She preferred to hang out in the garage for the rest of her life. We had her put down after she became pitiful.

Maggie had not learned that climbing the fence led to bad things, and Terri and I did not learn from Maggie that we are not dog people. Our next mistake was named Polly. She was a beagle mix who's purpose in life was to drive me nuts. Polly barked at everything. If there was nothing to bark at, she barked for her own benefit. Polly started as a fit puppy, but rapidly transformed into the shape of a horizontal fire hydrant. For most of her life, she was a fat, smelly, ugly, stupid dog that barked incessantly. Because of her size and shape, she could not climb a fence. She could occasionally escape from the backyard.

One of these escapes occurred on our youngest daughters birth day, and may be the reason that Terri went into labor. I was called at work by a hysterical wife who stated that she was having labor pains and the dog was in the front yard bleeding from the head and leg. Terri's father I and headed to the house. I took Terri to the hospital, while my father-in-law took Polly to the veterinarian.

The birth of Allison was insured, but the repair of Polly was not. The vet informed me that she could patch the dog up for $300. I asked what it would cost to put her to sleep. The vet then saved Polly's life by reducing her charge to $150. Polly was patched up and healed. She was no worse for wear, just a little uglier. A few years later, Polly developed cancer. After a few hundred dollars to remove tumors on her back, she was put down.

Terri and I had finally learned our lesson. No more dogs. After the marriage of our oldest daughter, we did fill the void with not one, but two cats named Chumley (the second) and Chancey. Chumley is a docile, laid back lap cat, while Chancey was a hyper, bundle of nerves. Eventually, Chancey became aggressive and impossible to live with. She was put down. Chumley is now 8 years old, and my pal. He requires a few minutes of lap time every day, but is otherwise self sufficient. He stands beside the bedroom door most mornings waiting for me, and follows me throughout the house for both of his awake hour each day.

So, Cats rule. They are like jazz musicians of the animal kingdom. Everything they do is smooth and athletic, almost choreographed. A dog's demeanor is more like Mick Jagger, jumping all over the place begging for attention. Cats require more effort than the value they provide. Dogs require walks, discipline, and much training just to be somewhat well-behaved. Dogs trash your yard with poo, tear up the lawn and create noise pollution.

A cat would say "I am going to jump on your lap for a few minutes. Feel free to pet me". A dog would nuzzle your crotch, hump your leg and say "Pet me, pet me, now. Come on, pet me, okay? Okay, come on pet me, pet me, pet me, please PET ME!" Dogs drool.

I usually don't mind other people's dogs. Terri's parents have always had well behaved dogs that were okay. They spent a lot of time training them to be good, far more time that I am willing to invest in a pet. Those dogs are the exception. The norm seems to be our neighbors who own 4 dogs. That pack has turned our quiet neighborhood into what can sound like a kennel. And then there were those 2 Pomeranians a former sister-in-law had. Those yappy monsters served absolutely no purpose and were possibly the most annoying animals ever created. Every time they barked, (about 80 times per minute), I would dream of kicking field goals with them and it made the time a little more bearable. Even now I now have visions of them starring in an episode of "Man vs. Wild", where Bear skins them, shoves a stick up their rear,and roasts them over a fire. That made me smile. Dogs drool.